Ocean
by Mrs. James Harold Potter
Summary: I opt to wear my black Metallica tee shirt, attracting heat from the sun, causing beads of sweat to run down my face. Why would I do such a thing, idiotic, myself being a reasonably smart guy? The answer is easy. It was all I had left of her. Rory Gilmore


Disclaimer: I don't Gilmore Girls at all. Amy Sherman-Palladino and Dan Palladino do. I don't own Metallica, don't know who does either. Don't own any of the other references made either.

**A/N: I hope everyone likes this. This isn't my best work, those are all in the Harry Potter department. I thought I would delve into the precarious mind of Jess Mariano for a while; see what its like! Jess POV. Lol anyways enjoy!  
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**I really do take pleasure in reviews. Please do review. It means a lot to hear my readers' opinions—even if they are negative.**

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**Ocean**

I stretched my body out on Californian sands, sun beating down on my face. It is hot outside, and yet I opt to wear my black Metallica tee shirt, attracting heat from the sun, causing beads of sweat to run down my face. Why would I do such a thing, so stupid and idiotic, myself being a reasonably smart guy? The answer is easy. It was all I had left of her.

Her, being Rory Gilmore, the girl I had fallen madly in love with. I met her in Star's Hallow, the godforsaken town, which until now, I was forced to call home. My mother sent me there, with my uncle, in hopes that he could sort me out. There was, truly nothing to sort. I chose to be an ass when it came to my mother. She treated me like a child, someone who didn't know any better, although I did. I chose not to.

Free will, otherwise known as the ability to act or make choices as a free and autonomous being and not solely as a result of compulsion or predestination. I was reckless simply because I could. In the home of Liz Danes, there was no such word as obligatory. Everything I did or said was at the predestination of my own mouth. I didn't grow up with a father as most kids probably did. Mine realized there was more to having a kid than the initial sex. So there I was, an awkward kid, with only a mother who switched beaus as often as she paid the bills. No dad to give me 'the talk' or just to talk to in general, no younger siblings to vent out your anger on, no one except my dear old mom. Of course, with nothing and no one else to do so, I took my anger out on her. There were rarely consequences for my actions, and in the case of which, I simply shoved it aside by blasting ACDC and slamming the door to my room shut.

Finally, one day my mother decided she was through with all my shit. She said, 'Pack your bags, your going to your Uncle Luke's.' Uncle Luke. My dear old Uncle Luke. Yes, he of all people seemed like the one to, how did she put it? Ah yes, 'Set you straight'. So willingly, I went, no high hopes of course. Supposedly I was in for a 'rude awakening', as Luke put it. I worked in his diner, living in the apartment upstairs. As many people, in novels most often, a 'change of scenery' was nice. Not exactly the case if you were living in Stars Hallow.

The town was insane. The people were insane. I might have gone insane myself if it weren't for a couple reasons, but I'll get to that later. To begin with, you had Luke, the man—late thirties, and still, for some odd reason began reminding me more and more of a paranoid old woman who kept knives under their pillow—just in case a murderer was nearby, as time went on. (Yup—my uncle) Then you had Babette and Patty—the inseparable duo, sitting in Luke's almost every morning, chattering their minds off about everything under the sun. Who slept with whom, reruns of 'I Love Lucy', you name it, they've discussed it one point of another.

Then of course, there was Kirk. Kirk, the boy who incessantly talks about himself in the third person, troubles Luke to the point of where he might actually use that knife under his pillow, and returns food complaining that it was incorrectly prepared. The Kirk who named a kitten after himself, and in my opinion, really needs some Prozac—or a girlfriend.

And what would Stars Hallow do without Taylor? The Taylor that insisted on making all these dull town events. The one, who I still believe, at god-knows-what-age, lives with his mother. Well—I've got to hand one thing to Taylor. If it weren't for Taylor, I probably never would have fallen in love with Rory Gilmore. Here comes the explanation.

As usual, I wasn't truly expecting anything that rule-binding from Luke—seeing that he was the relative of Liz Danes. So I came there willingly—expecting the penultimate easiest stay—next to my mother of course. It didn't turn out that way. I had a curfew, I was supposed to work at his diner, go to school, get good grades, and not give him an attitude. I couldn't help but laugh at the mere thought. No one told Jess Mariano what to do. Of course, this town beat my mother's house, so I agreed, while rebelling in my own ways.

That night I went out on a walk, needing to get some fresh air. The diner was stuffy enough, but I couldn't take much more of Taylor and Luke's relentless bickering. Then it happened. I realized my affections for Rory Gilmore. She was a beautiful girl, not much older than seventeen—my age, in fact. Her eyes—I couldn't get started on her eyes. They were the bright, aqua color of the ocean. Something, which since living in California had constantly reminded me of her.

I had bumped into her various times throughout the day, none of which we had a real conversation. I had managed though, to steal her copy of Oliver Twist, a book that had always been a favorite of mine. Yes—I read. I wasn't the mindless bum many of my teachers thought me to be. I read—quite literately. I enjoyed the classics immensely—the good ones—that is.

Moving onward with the story. Rory knew I liked to read, so she had offered to lend me her copy of Oliver Twist. As usual, I took it upon myself to read it. I made some changes, creating notes of my own in the margin. I pulled it out of my back pocket, watching in amusement at the slightly shocked look on her face. She underestimated me when I told her I didn't read much. Reading through Oliver Twist forty times wasn't really that much—not to me at least. We said our farewells. Knowing my name though, she called me Dodger, an Oliver Twist reference I knew very well. I caught on almost immediately, causing a shy smile to come out on her face. That was the first time questioned the idea of being in love.

We had many confrontations over the next few months; some nice, some quiet, some intellectual, some nonsensical. I enjoyed the ones where she smiled at me, which was every time. There was always that one intervention, in the form of Dean Forrester. Her boyfriend. Initially, I didn't think she was in a relationship, considering how much time she spent talking to _me. _He was the perfect little boy; most likely living with his mother, wearing Grandma's sweaters from Christmas five years ago. I never complained, happy for Rory's companionship, looking into her eyes—just being around her. Her presence made me forget all the things bothering me in my life.

Meanwhile, in school, I had begun to deteriorate considerably. Not because—as many of my teachers, and Luke began to think, that I was having issues of my own. It was because I chose otherwise, preferring my conversations with Rory, and reading—or simply listening to music, over writing monotonous essays providing valid information about each of his wives. Who really gives a shit about any of them? They all slept with him anyway!

Luke and Lorelai, Rory's eccentric mother, had arranged for Rory to be my tutor. I had nothing to complain about—this would be easy; I knew all the content. Rory seemed distant, most likely because she and Dean had been fighting earlier about her coming in the first place. I knew he was envious of the attention I was getting from Rory. Served him right—he would have done better back at his mom's house.

Although Rory was focused on studying, I did my very best to veer the conversations otherwise. I convinced her, since the studying had officially gone nowhere that we go out for ice cream. She obliged. ACDC blasting on the radio of my car, we were laughing, and having an overall nice time. Then there was a choice. I could have turned right, leading us back to the diner, or left, leading us back into a circle. She chose left, taking us around. Our joyride came to an abrupt halt when I had hit a curb. Neither of us was hurt, but Rory fractured her wrist. Neither Luke nor Lorelai seemed too happy about this.

Luke decided that I had become too dangerous—for Rory's and my own good. He also felt that I was 'interfering' in Rory's relationship with Dean. Is it interfering when two friends have a lively debate? But nothing I said changed the fact—he was kicking me out. Well—he didn't really kick me out—I became frustrated left, went back to New York.

It was strange, being back in the city with the bustling streets, and homeless on every corner. I used to love the city, taking in the life and personalities of each person I came across. I stood in the record store on the corner every day, almost every record reminding me of Rory in some way. It was mind-blowing to admit it, but I missed Stars Hallow. I missed waking up everyday to the sounds of Luke arguing furiously with Taylor about the latest town event. I missed Luke snatching the cigarettes out of my mouth as I smoked them, his sarcastic tone. I missed Babette and Patty, giggling like children every morning in the diner precisely at 7:00. I missed tripping Dean in the halls at Stars Hallow High, watching him almost trip, then cover it up with a half-step. But most of all, I missed Rory Gilmore, the girl with the sapphire eyes, loved Metallica and ACDC as much as I did, and had a vivid attraction to books. She made me feel normal—as though all the problems in my life never ceased to exist. The times I spent with Rory were probably the best of my life.

So I came back to Stars Hallow, the town—which until now, I thought I hated. I found her—Rory that is. Neither of us spoke for a moment, Rory was in shock that I was there, alive—and well—here in Stars Hallow. She asked me why I came back. I couldn't say it was because I was in love with her—that would sound strange. She then did the unthinkable. She sprung into my arms, kissing me passionately on the lips. The kiss was magnificent, far greater than what I had thought it to be originally. So—I did the only sensible thing—I kissed her back.

But as the saying goes, all good things come to an end. She pulled away, horrified at what she had done. To this day, I don't think that she was horrified of the fact that she kissed me. I think she was horrified of the fact that she kissed me—enjoyed it, although she had a boyfriend. She apologized, backing away, running away. That was the last time I had seen her the rest of the summer.

Rory went to Washington D.C. No letters, no calls, no smoke signal. She kissed me—and yet treated me like I didn't exist. Not even a hello—it infuriated me. I felt used—something that usually didn't happen. So I found a girlfriend—Shane. She was nothing like Rory. She reminded me vaguely of Courtney Love, appearance and all—including intelligence as well. She cared mainly about making out—and the word 'reading' was not in her simple vocabulary.

Rory—when she came back she was obviously jealous. She made faces whenever Shane was around. She didn't talk to me as much—her only comments being curt and snide. That's what I had expected; although I can't deny that it hurt, losing someone as brilliant as Rory. Then I noticed this as well. She was trying to make me jealous—just as I did to her. Anyone with a normal functioning brain would have been able to tell that we had undeniable feelings for each other.

We began dating. Although Rory felt guilty at first, it eventually melded into something meaningful. Of course, with my luck, it couldn't stay that way. I had been secretly skipping school to work extra shifts at a local Wal-Mart. In the end—my principal told me that I wasn't graduating. I wouldn't keep the deal I had made with Luke about graduating. I couldn't take Rory to prom, something she had been looking forward to immensely.

How was I supposed to break it to her? I didn't want to break her heart. Before I got the chance to tell her everything, the inevitable happened. My father, yes the professional ass, showed up in Stars Hallow. He wanted to take me back to California, to get to know me better. No letters, phone calls, not even a fruit basket for god's sake, and he wanted to get to know me better?

Under normal circumstances, I would have refused in an instant. Rory wasn't talking to me, after the fiasco at Kyle's party, Luke was _this close_ to kicking me out for good, I couldn't get the prom tickets, and on top of everything, I wasn't graduating. So I did it. I packed a duffle bag full of my necessities, including a few books and shirts, and left for California.

So here I was, lying on a beach when it's a scorching hot ninety degrees, in a black Metallica only to be reminded of her. I tried calling her, but she hung up on me. She told me she was sick of me mistreating her, sick of my lies. It hurt—of course it hurt to listen to the girl you loved tell you in a monologue-type sequence, on her Graduation Day of all days, that she doesn't love you. That was the last time I talked to Rory Gilmore.

Slowly, I unfold the piece of paper in my pocket. It is wrinkled, with scratch marks all over it. It's a letter that I had written, earlier in the day to Rory. I had tried to say how sorry I was, that I had fucked up everything between us, but it didn't make a difference. No apology would ever be effective enough. I had lost her.

I pulled a pen from my pocket, scratching out all of my genuine words of apology. Then, in a smaller writing, at the very bottom of the page, I wrote in the cramped script that Rory loved so much about me:

_I love you Rory Gilmore_

I sat up, brushing the sand off my jeans, walking towards the ocean's edge, its shimmering aqua reminding me of Rory's eyes. I placed the letter down into the water, watching silently as the water began to blotch my writing until it was a black blur. One phrase stood out among the rest, I noted walking away.

The words, 'I love you, Rory Gilmore', now forever embedded beneath the ocean's surface.


End file.
